Appreciating Your Concern
by redFaust
Summary: An injured and angered Altair returns from a mission. How kindly will Malik react to it? Altmal. Reviews welcome


The sweet scent of burning essence gave the room a musty yet pleasant feel to it. Yells and chatter of the town outside wafted through the open curtains of the windows. A single pigeon cooed on the wooden table behind which sat Malik.

Calmly and intent on his work, the dark haired man copied a detailed and complex map onto a piece of parchment. His right arm moved quickly, the ink dipped quill giving soft scratching sounds. The job was a quiet and peaceful one with no interruptions or-

The door of the room burst open with a loud bang, the person entering slamming the door so hard behind himself the pigeon gave a terrified gurgle and flew into an adjourning room. Without glancing up from his work, Malik bid his visitor a dry welcome.

'I see you are back, novice,' he said sourly.

'Those goddamn- I mean, safety and peace to you, Malik,' the man said roughly but quickly choosing the correct words of respected greeting.

'Your presence deprives me of both,' Malik answered in the placid way he usually did. 'I see you are quite in an adrenaline rush. You remembered the feather during your excitement I hope though?'

A blood stained feather was uncaringly thrown onto the map Malik was drawing. It's small fluff was rumpled and the whole thing looked as if it was clenched much too tightly. Lightly running his fingers over the feather's broken stem, Malik finally looked up at the man who entered.

'What happened out there, Altair?'

Altair stood in an angered poise, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he collected his breath. The cuffs of his shirt were streaked with blood, not too unusual after an assassination yet still not a constant occurrence, and his red sash had a rip near its tail. Even though the white hood hid the Assassin's face, Malik could see the other man's jawline was tightened and his caramel hued skin was sweaty.

'There were Templars everywhere,' he growled. 'And making a show of themselves too. They made me run into the middle of a market place and then surrounded me twelve to one. Twelve to one!'

Malik stood up from his desk, picking up the feather, and walked around it to a tall cabinet filled with rolls of parchment.

'Twelve to one, you say?' he asked calmly, pinning the red feather near a whole row of similar ones. 'Shouldn't be a challenge for someone like you, now should it?'

'No, it wasn't,' Altair answered but something in his voice made Malik turn around and scrutinise the man. Altair didn't need to avert his eyes since his hood already hid his amber orbs but his body betrayed him.

'You're injured!' Malik said, pointing with his right hand to the uneven bulge on the assassin's right shoulder. Peering closer, Malik could now see that there were bandages underneath and the wound must have been a deep one because some blood had begun to seep into the outer coat too. Softly flexing his fingers over the arm, Malik gave a slight push to which Altair hissed through his teeth and flinched.

Malik shook his head and took a step back. 'Come into my room. I'll give you something for that wound.'

'But Malik-'

'Now, novice!' barked Malik, using the term he knew the previous Master Assassin hated.

With a smug look he followed Altair as they entered Malik's bedroom, a simple room furnished with only a bed, cupboard, cabinet, table and chair. A large window on the furthest wall in the room was open and letting in a cool, fresh breeze. The pigeon that was with Malik before was sitting on the windowsill, its grey head knocked to the side as it watched Malik rummage in the cabinet and pulling out a roll of cotton bandage.

Malik handed the cotton roll to Altair who silently took it.

'How deep is it?' asked Malik as he watched Altair walk over to the bed and sit on its edge, looking down at the bandage in his hands.

'I can clean it myself, Malik,' he answered.

Giving a curt nod, Malik stepped out of the room and gestured for the other man to do the same. Allowing Altair to walk back into the first room of the building, he shut the door and leant his back against it, closing his eyes.

'Go to Al Mualim now, Altair,' he ordered, hearing the assassin's boot scuffing the floor as he walked closer to the door. 'He should give your next assignment after which you will come to me for consultation. Then I will give you the feather and grant you the permission to continue.'

'I know the rules, Malik,' Altair replied tightly, feeling the deep pride in him rise to defend himself. 'I know what to do without your orders.'

'Then why are you still here?' snapped Malik, still keeping his eyes closed and back relaxed. His right hand was holding onto the door behind him so that his lack of balance due to his left stump wouldn't topple him. His ears heard the whisper of Altair's sash touching the wooden floor as the assassin moved closer to him.

'To appreciate your concern,' Altair said softly as he stood in front of Malik whose eyes were still shut.

Malik's eyebrows just began knotting together when he felt the light brush of lips against his. The feeling was as soft and fleeting as the bumping of a moth and when his eyes snapped open he found the room to be empty and unchanged. Except for the window. Its blinds were pulled apart and it was fully open to the outside street.

Feeling the sounds of the town fill his room, Malik gently pressed two fingers to his lips. With a smile he shook his head and went back to his desk.

'Oh, novice,' he sighed fondly.


End file.
